


So It Goes

by AwesomeJon



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon
Summary: The 36th Doctor arrives in the Land of Fiction, trying to save a ridiculously improbable town and its fictional residents from the fury of the Daleks. But Taylor Hebert, the Warlord Skitter, doesn't trust people in authority trying to help her. Things happen, very quickly, and now the 37th Doctor and Lisa must forge an uneasy truce, and try to save her friend.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Fox and the Hare

She knows the moment she steps out of the TARDIS that something is wrong. Thirty-six lifetimes have honed her danger senses. She knows when things are  _ off _ , she knows when things are  _ uncanny _ , she knows when things are  _ exciting _ . 

This city is all of them. It’s  _ wrong _ . She shouldn’t be here. It’s why she came. 

A fly, particularly large and bulbous, with fine hairs on its legs, lands on her shoulder. Climbs up to her nose. It’s  _ beautiful _ , and she tells it as much. “Hello there,” she says, smiling. She keeps walking, a sightseeing strut, like she owns the place. In truth, she doesn’t care what happens to it. One of 27’s companions managed to convince her these are the same attitude from different angles, and she likes that idea.

As she stands in front of a shop, looking at the waterlogged streets in front of her, wondering what happened (who), a swarm of bugs of all kinds approaches her, then takes the shape of a man. No, a young girl. Adding detail. Hair,  _ fat _ . She’s seen this before, this desire to intentionally recreate everything wrong with her when she had the opportunity to be literally anyone else. She gave it up long ago. It tells her who she’s dealing with.    
  
The mechanical hiss the bugs make is  _ what _ , though. A voice. A threatening murmur, a bladelike susurration.  _ You shouldn’t be here _

“So I shouldn’t. But I could say the same for you, couldn’t I? What kind of a name for a city is Brockton Bay? You’re on the East Coast of the United States, bordered by mountains. How does that work?  _ What state are you in? _ ”

The bug-figure starts to reply, folding its arms, put off by her impertinence (aren’t they all?), but she cuts it off. “I know, I know. Perfectly good answers to all those questions. But superheroes, seriously? I only ever met two. One was fictional. This city is  _ full _ of them.”

_ You...met fictional people _ . Butterflies flap with disdain. 

“That’s a thing I do, yes. You’d be surprised how often it happens. Why, one time, I was convinced Robin Hood wasn’t real. After I’d met him, you understand. Still not sure he wasn’t.”

_ what _ She hears bees. Time to make her pitch.

“Just because you’re fictional doesn’t mean you don’t matter, doesn’t mean I don’t care. Doesn’t mean the Daleks don’t want to kill you too. I’m the Doctor, and I’m here to help.”

A voice, now, in the shadows. Preceding the entry of a blond girl, with a bright, winning smile. It’s a cruel smile. (she too owns the place because she doesn’t care what happens to it, owns herself the same)

“It’s fine, Skitter. They’re not lying, at least. Two hearts, too, which is really weird.”

The Doctor beams. It usually takes longer for people to notice. “And you would be?”

“I’m Tattletale. Skitter and I run this town. Now what the hell is a Dalek?”

“Long story. Haven’t got time to explain. Run.” She can feel in her bones -- the portal is opening. They’re almost here. 

_ Not good enough _ the bees are louder, they’re crawling up her pant legs. She does not like this. It’s not kind to the bees.

“It’s very much good enough, thank you. We need to get clear. Now.”

“Skitter, listen to her.” A pleading note, actually. These two are close. One is dangerous, but which? The blonde is afraid of what the other can do, but that doesn’t change things…

The bugs are joined by a real human girl made of proper human parts, now, wearing a full face mask with an eerie yellow glow to the eyes. She walks with anger and purpose, like an oncoming storm, and the 36th Doctor is reminded of a very old friend. This girl points to the TARDIS, still blue and boxy by her own choice. “What’s that? It’s never been here before. You from Aleph?”

“No, Skitter, she’s not. For god’s sake.” A sigh. “I did mean it when I said we run this town. We usually try to not be such dicks about it, though.”

“I understand. Security is a thing. You’ve every right to be concerned, but I mean it when I say we need to run. Now.” 

“Why?” Skitter looks at her, defiant, the swarm-girl taking up space behind her, boxing her in. “You need to have a reason. I don’t trust you.”

“Because the portal --”

Oh hell. 

It opens.

Right in front of her eyes. Behind Skitter. The dread war cry begins as soon as it opens, because of course it does. “EX. TERM. IN. ATE!”

The lead Dalek’s beam emitter glows purple, and she throws herself in front of Skitter. Without a thought, as she always has, as she always will. There’s guaranteed to be a next time, but the inbetweens hurt like  _ fuck _ and it’s a lot to take in --

Welcoming the purple death (violet violence, haha -- delirium already? wow) and changing it for golden light, healing, peace, expansiveness --

Not too much, as she’s got Skitter wrapped in a hug, she’s dying and all she cares about is keeping this stranger who was just arguing with her safe, damn her eyes (blue this time?)

“What the fuck? How are you doing that? Skitter, are you okay?” Tattletale’s voice is distracting, and she

_ will never forgive herself for this _

Loses control. Golden blooms flow from the wound in her side, burning her, and she’s lost in a brilliant flame. 

“Taylor?! No…” Tattletale’s voice is an unholy hybrid, scream and whisper alike, and she realizes she’s fucked up again. 

She’s never killed someone by regenerating, before. 

The scream becomes intolerable, an unintelligible wail, and she feels fists pounding her back and head. A lot bigger than they used to be, a lot heavier. She rolls over, holding empty air now -- the energy has the courtesy to not leave anything behind, even ashes --

And she hears the voice of a young boy say “It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t control it with you  _ bloody _ shouting about nonsense.”

Oh great. She’s an asshole, now. But they don’t remember ever having been a child before? That’s new, probably fun.

“What the fuck?” Tattletale stops hitting h-him, they guess. Is it possible to respect your own pronouns if you haven’t decided on them yet? “The robots are gone. Like they were never here.”

“I stopped them,” he says, confidently, brushing himself off and standing up as if a hundred angry reflexes he used to be  _ made of  _ never left him at all. As if he’s always been this exact little shit. “I tried to not kill your friend. I’m...sorry.”

“She’s dead? I thought maybe you’d teleported her, hoped...oh.” 

He can tell just by watching her posture it’s hit her like a truck. He doesn’t remember what that feels like, that grief over one (measly) friend. He wishes he did. “Nevertheless we absolutely must run. It’s not safe here.” He grabs her hand, starts for the TARDIS. 

“You said you were going to save us.”

“I know. We’ll come back. We’ll regroup. Come with me. Now. Please.”

The vorpal growl of his TARDIS has already started, they don’t have time -- if she follows then she’ll be safe, but he’s got to take stock, got to figure out who he is, and the Land of Fiction is no place to do that. That way lies madness, that way lies danger. Loss of self is his one fear, and he’s too proud to set it aside even to save people. He’s outgrown that, since about 17. 

He steps inside, reaching out his hand, they’re already fading from her world, he hopes she takes it --

“There’s nothing for me here,” she says. “Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em all burn. Two years, anyway, tops, and it’s all done.” 

He doesn’t ask about that -- although it’s interesting. They have a lot of ground to cover before he knows himself, knows just what kind of creature he’s brought on board. There will be time for a proper interrogation later -- the TARDIS is shouting about dimensional parasites and it’s probably nothing, but -- no. It’s just not the biggest issue.

She takes his hand, and he pulls her aboard. They vanish, leaving Brockton and Daleks and Fiction behind. Bound only for the space between spaces.

In the silence, broken only by the TARDIS’s incessant hum, they regard each other silently, like stalking fighters. They pace, like marchers at a wake.

“My best friend just died.”

“So did I.” Plaintive, indignant, somehow also matter of fact.

“You tried to save her. I didn’t.”

He nods. “You didn’t have time to tell what was happening. I did.”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s just it. I did! I didn’t want to fail again! Every time I try to save someone, they die, and I take that with me wherever I go.”

He smiles grimly. “I have been there. I am still there.” He likes this voice, this gravity. Shades of 31, perhaps, or 24. He’s a very self important boy. Again.

“No, you aren’t. You haven’t. You never were. You died. I saw it, I felt it. I knew you had died. And then you came back.”

He nods, says nothing. Let her get this demon worked out, then he can use her. Then he can help.

“Which is why you won’t mind if I do this.” Here it comes…

She produces a pistol from her skintight suit, somehow, and cocks it level with his small head. How  _ predictable _ . How much disdain he should feel. But he can’t bring himself to care. 

“That’ll just lose us valuable time, you know.”

“It’ll hurt like a motherfucker. You bled. I saw it.”

He nods. “What do you want?”

“To go back. To save her. This...thing, it travels through time. I don’t know how I figured that out. Usually I’m not so good at these things.”

A grim smile. The level of calm he’s feeling frightens even him. He expected his little boy-self to be deathly afraid of guns.

Then he remembers how he felt in the barn, the sea of placid and timeless calm, and he’s done pretending. Done pretending he will tolerate this insult, done pretending he does not fear, done pretending he is not God. 

His left palm strikes her in the sternum, his right fist lances into her nose, and she’s bleeding, reeling. He leaps, grabs her, pulling her hair, strength surprising even him. She yelps.

He drags her to the door and kicks it open. He feels her start in shock, looking down at the blue whorls and eddies and the sheer  _ rush _ below, the whirling vortex that is time without something to keep time against -- what old Will  _ really _ meant by “out of joint”. An eternal roar. It broke him once, made him new and made him  _ him _ , and as she goes still he feels a sort of smug satisfaction. Whatever happens to her now is up to her.

Then concern. The one he doesn’t speak of anymore wasn’t even this cruel. And cruelty is cowardice. But he’s got to keep this up until he’s made his point.

“Do you see that? That is time. It rushes below you like a river. It is ceaseless, uncaring. An old friend of mine once wrote that it wears high mountains down. Time has worn away at me since I was a little girl, and it wears away at me now. It is more of a nuisance to me than your impatience will  _ ever _ be. Going back to save your friend was always part of the plan. But you cannot step into the same river twice, and you may not like what happens if we do. We need to be able to trust each other, and I cannot even trust myself right now. I’m afraid, I’m doing dangerous things to compensate. Cowards are always cruel, Tattletale, and the main reason I am so afraid of  _ guns _ is because I have fired one in anger.”

  
She doesn’t even have a witty retort. He shakes her by her stupid ponytail. “Nod if you understand.”

She does. “Good.”

He lets go, and she just lies there, fascinated, horrified, terrorized. Looking endlessly into what lies beneath her, in the endless expanse of Not.

“So since you made me afraid of such a silly, simple thing, I’m showing you what I swim in every day. I apologize for how much this must seem scary, and alien, but I am fragile and new right now. I must not be made to feel that kind of fear.”

She nods. She’s sobbing, and he takes pity on her. Pulls her back, shuts the door. “Tea?” He doesn’t like how much his voice is shaking. How it’s a smaller voice than he expected. How he’s doing nothing but overcompensating. 

  
She sniffles. “You’re lucky. And yes. Chamomile. Taylor liked that.”

He raises an eyebrow, busying himself making the tea. “Lucky how?”

She laughs, huffing sharply and heaving her shoulders. “Let’s see. You don’t  _ die _ . Redundant biology, plus whatever the fuck that was when you actually died. You travel through time, in a thing that defies dimensional logic. It’s like Vista and Clockblocker had a baby in here, it fucks with my head. And it talks to me. Held my hand, when I was looking at that  _ fucking _ whatever it was. Time. Told me you’re not normally like this. Kept me sane. My power, it could have broken my brain, looking at that. You are lucky. You know why? Because with all these advantages and all these tricks, you still don’t understand normal brains, and even though mine isn’t normal, you somehow didn’t break it. So fuck you, kid. Fuck you.”

He nods, stroking his chin. “I see.”

He does see. How much trouble he’s in. What he’s brought on board. How grave an error presumption might have been, this time. 

“So my name is Lisa. What’s yours? Doctor who?”

He smiles. “Yes. Doctor who, indeed. I like the sound of that, Lisa.” 

  
  
  
  



	2. Adventures In Babysitting

“So, fiction.” Lisa stands behind him, looks over his shoulder as he tinkers with the TARDIS. Regular performance improvements for her are always necessary -- 22 had called them “date night”. That’s weird, right? The flavor of the weirdness, though, different now -- aged from quirky to gross, like whisky in reverse.

That was also strange. He’s changed. He hasn’t been like this in a very long time.

Oh, yes, the girl. “Hm? You were saying?”

“No, you were saying. Fiction. You walked up to us to tell us we were fictional, and then -- well, here I am. Am I fictional or not? How does that even work? What does it even mean?”

He chews on the tip of his sonic screwdriver, considers his next words carefully. What to tell her. What she can deal with. Adults are never really as stable as they act, you know. “You are fictional. There’s this place, all right. It’s called the Land of Fiction, and it’s like...are you familiar with the idea of parallel dimensions, at all, in any capacity?”

“Yes, actually.” She brightens, at the familiar concept.  _ Bingo _ .

“Well this isn’t anything like one of those, so get that out of your head.”

At this, shock and dismay. Indignation. He barrels on, a smile forms. “Parallel dimensions are only relevant because they’re a good basis for relative comparison. If you stacked up everything about a parallel dimension -- you know, what makes it parallel? A is parallel to B, which line is longer, that sort of thing. And dimensions, let’s look into that for a second. Sub-branes, manifolds, P-vectors, what’s inside what and which is on top, right?”

She nods hesitantly. “I think I’m following.”

He grins widely. It’s been so good to  _ explain _ things again. “You aren’t doing any such thing.”

She seems to try to form an objection, then gives up. He sees it, a shrug of her shoulders, minute but clear. “But it’s fine. Anyway, take all of these things that make parallel dimensions  _ parallel dimensions _ , that is, dimensions which are parallel, what do they have in common?”

She narrows her eyes skeptically, then grins, that sort of sly cleverness that he’s really beginning to  _ like _ about her. “You’re about to tell me. No use in guessing.”

He nods. “Right you are! Wait, what?”

She giggles a bit. 

He rolls his eyes. How very  _ twelve _ of him. Adults are so stupid. “Anyway. The thing they have in common is that they are bound by the laws of science. Which, really, are suggestions, but so are like, regular laws. So who’s counting?”

“Not me. I’m wanted by the federal government, back home.”

He grins again. “An  _ excellent _ life choice. No, sincerely. I mean that. You’re really something, Lisa.”

She nods. “High praise, coming from the kid who  _ killed my friend _ .”

He groans. “I knew I was forgetting something. We’ll get back to that, put a pin in it. It’s very important. But so is this.”

“I see. Go on, Teach.” A quirk playing at her lips. He has her, she’ll stay, no matter what happens. And a lot of things are likely to not go her way. 

“Teach, now  _ there _ was one of the few of you lot who could drink me under the table. Actually, he reminds me of your friend. Scooter, wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

A polite cough, then. There, that should do it. “My mistake. Anyway, the whole  _ bug _ thing was just like his fuses in the beard arrangement. Very impressive, very imposing. But he was scared. All of you are.”

“Wait,  _ Edward _ Teach? Blackbeard?” 

He nods brightly, now bouncing on his heels. “Yes. Wonderful man. Very misunderstood. And a competent drinker. Once he and JFK got into a barfight on Zeti 9…”

She’s kind of doing that gaping blank stare thing they do. He’d better dial it back. “Yeah, long story.  _ ANY _ way. So the thing all of the things that make a parallel dimension parallel have in common is that they’re bound by science. Throw that out, you have the Nots, the Crosses, the Void, the Omnimaw, and a lot of similar things.”

“The Nots and the Crosses.”

“Yes, I named them myself.”

“I see.”

“Do you, now.”

“No. Not at all.”

A sly smile. “I didn’t think so. I will  _ not _ be giving you a guided tour. Terrible places. No science, nothing else. The Land of Fiction, now, I visit it occasionally. Used to think I  _ came _ from it, but I don’t. You know how I know?”

She shakes her head. “Because its guiding principle is  _ Narrative _ . Or Story, but the same thing applies. America had a president from there, once, and I  _ do not _ mean Washington. But I’m not from there. Can’t be. I write stories, when I’m not reading them. It’s like how the Other invented science. He wasn’[t from here at all, but  _ I am _ .” He winks at her, ominously. Let her chew on that one for a bit, see what she can come up with.

She pauses, thinks it over. Misses his hint about the Other by a country mile. “So I’m a character, then. From a story.”

He flashes a thumbs up. “Precisely!”

“That doesn’t make sense. I’ve got a birth certificate, I’m made of meat, we’re not in the Land of Fiction anymore, even if we ever were.”

“It makes perfect sense!” He really wishes she would, you know, actually  _ have _ some sense before she invokes it, but he doesn’t say so, because he’s very polite, after all. “Lisa, listen. You came into my ship, you pointed a gun at me.  _ Me _ . I have, last I counted, more epithets than Athena. There are worlds out there where they’ve forgotten Athena and Jehovah alike, never heard of either of them, maybe. And yet they have apotropaic charms to keep me away. Like the apple.”

She gawks. “The apple.”

“Yeah. You think it’s all fun and games, you show up to Newton to watch him discover gravity for the hundredth time -- childlike glee at new ideas, right? Better than a supernova. And instead of it falling on his head, he catches the damn thing and throws it at you.  _ Extremely _ upsetting. No fun at all.”

“Because you’re...the…”

He nods. “It keeps me away, or so they think. Nah. I just eat it. Better than pears, that’s for sure.”

She’s backing away, now, slowly. “What the fuck.  _ What the fuck _ .”

“Oh, right. I didn’t mention I was insane? Sorry about that. Anyway, you came onto a ship piloted exclusively by a man who is believed to be a god, or a demon, by thousands of worlds across billions of years. And you pointed an itty piddly little  _ popgun _ at me, and you survived. Who does this?”

“Me?”

He makes a chopping motion with his hand, eyes gleaming. “Right! And characters in stories, generally. You’ve got a sort of immunity to the stupid consequences of your own stupid behavior. Plot armor, I think they call it.”

She sits down. “This is ridiculous. It can’t be true, can it?”

“Mountains. Around an East Coast city, in the United States. How?”

“I never thought about it, I guess.”

“Ah.” He looks sad for a moment. “Another sign. Although if you lacked any more curiosity or awareness of your surroundings, you might become  _ real _ , and that’s a fate I wish on nobody.”

She blinks. “How do you say so many ridiculous things? Do you hear yourself?”

He laughs, now. “Aren’t I great? You’re finally getting into the swing of things. We are going to have --” he claps his hands, emphasizing the words -- “so much fun together!”

“We’re going to save Taylor. Then we’ll see.”

He shakes his head. “First things first. You  _ did  _ point your stupid Roman candle at me, and I’m still very upset about it. So a trial run. Wouldn’t want another Adam or Adric situation, now would we? Then  _ if _ we can, we will save your friend, and then you see if you want to live in Fictional American Cardiff (which looks like it got hit by a Blitz, by the way) and be a criminal or go adventuring with me and do  _ fun _ things.”

“So we’ll see. That’s what I said.”

He pouts. “Not even going to argue about the trial run?”

She spreads her hands amicably. “Fair’s fair.”

He immediately starts flipping switches, pulling a plunger,  _ setting sail _ . “I wonder where we’re going to end up?”

“You don’t know?”

He grins. “How would I know? Why? What would be the fun in that?”

*****

  
An hour passes, conversation, silent regard, amiable companionship, generally speaking. He’s not ready to ask her about her whole thing, powers and whatever else is obviously eating her, or why she was friends with Skitter -- Taylor, maybe, would be a better name -- or even about being wanted by the federal government. That’s no picnic, even if it’s  _ fun _ , and he suspects it has something to do with running the town. Running towns is usually frowned upon. He should know, he’s done it a couple times. 

But these are for another time. This time, as the TARDIS reverts to realspace, as stars and green and blue marbles wink back into existence all around them, he’s thinking maybe she had a point, about knowing where they were going. He’s only heard of this place, of the glowing, angry, red-orange orb of molten fire below, charred with mirrored obsidian, a scar upon a scar upon black empty vacuum. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” he says. His voice smaller than it’s ever been, just a little bit squeaky. 

“It’s certainly not someplace I’d go for a picnic, but it can’t be that bad, right? You’re God. Or something. Right kid?” She punches his arm, perhaps sensing his fading morale. 

“And I would very much prefer to stay in heaven, in fear of what I created.”

She looks at him. “Spy Kids 3? Really, little guy?”

He nods. “I thought it was the equal of anything Fellini did.”

“Pour one out for the guy who did 8 ½ then,  _ fuck _ . Wow. We got ourselves a movie critic here.”

He grins. “Thank you for the levity, Lisa. But yes, I did this, in a way. You see, below you, the Adherents of the Repeated Meme have their most sacred and holy temple. Their Sanctum Sanctorum, if you will. This is where the meme, well, repeats.”

“The meme. Like the cheeseburger cat?”

He laughs, softly. She has no idea. “More of a big brain Wojak meets Loss sort of deal. Pepe, even. Horrific, tragic, post-ironic.  _ Then as farce _ .”

“Spell it out for me, please. Some kind of Cthulhu thing?”

He nods. “Actually, yes. Have you ever heard of Dionysus and the plucked chicken?”

“Yes. He says, look at this plucked chicken! What’s the difference between it and a man, right?”

“Yes. The later Human empires were plagued by nanobots, mockeries. Blasphemies, taking the shape of men. Finally, these saw fit to rule, to usurp humans, and eventually to exterminate them altogether. Which would have been fine with me, given that they were basically slaves before that, except that...well, when slaves take over from their masters, they like to get slaves themselves. It’s what they know.”

She listens, shakes her head. “So this is where the last humans live?”

“The last human. Welcome to Omelas, the place where the meme repeats. Where it is not permitted to stop repeating. Where it can never die. After all, as a guy I once knew said, the thing about you lot is, you survive, right?”

“Do we? I sort of figured we wouldn’t.”

He glowers. “You do. And I made sure of it. I didn’t want that guy to be wrong.”

“He was you.”

He says nothing.

“You did this. And you regret it. And it’s horrific. And you did it simply so we could survive.”

Still nothing. 

“And you called it Omelas. That was you.”

“Lisa, have you ever considered being a prosecutor?”

“Hey, if the shoe fits, wear it. I just got done working for an evil genius, what else is new?”

He sighs, now, deep and tired. This is no place for a child, and yet…

“I used to believe in poetry. I don’t know why we’re here. But I do know that when we go down to Omelas, we may not walk away.”

She shrugs. “It’s just a story, right?” Then she seems to think better of what she’s said. “Oh.  _ Oh _ .”

He nods. “Now you’re catching on.”

“What did you do? Please tell me it wasn’t some mean version of the plucked chicken, some sort of joke at our expense. We’re not that bad.  _ Are we _ ?”

“Worse than that.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re not that evil, you’re not a monster. You’re just a little shit in a suit.”

He adjusts his tie, straight, this time. Reaches into the hall closet, pulls out a rainbow-colored propeller beanie. Puts it on at a jaunty angle. “I’d been meaning to add this.”

“Also you’re insufferable.”

“Quite!” He grins. “I need you, Lisa. You make me feel better about myself.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented.”

“Yes?”

“Works for me. You look like you need a hug.”

“Yes.”

She wraps her arms around him, pats his head. “I’m sure whatever you think you did, it can’t be that bad.”

“I like that about you, you know. You’re very sure of things. Descent sequence starting...now.”

  
The planet approaches, and the light from the fires shines darkly off the mirror-polished rock, almost blinding her. She swears she can feel the heat from inside the vehicle, but she doesn’t believe it. It’s not real. 

She isn’t real. Not that it matters -- the psychic pressure she’s feeling is very real, the guilt, the regrets, the hatred, the anger, the gnawing resentment, the broiling self-loathing. All the world of Omelas is a stainless steel convection oven, and she will never fully walk away. 

Lisa Wilbourn is in hell. God has condemned her to hell. And all she cares about is making sure he’s okay. He  _ looks _ as scared and sad as she feels. And that can’t be right, that can’t be how this works. He can’t  _ need _ her to help him bear the consequences of whatever decision made this place. She can’t  _ want _ to help such an egotistical, insane psychopath. 

But that’s what’s happening. And Lisa has known God is a madman since she was four years old, and her father was  _ truly _ angry with her for the first time. And she can only submit to his guiding fury. Anything else would be actual suicide. 

  
So. She hugs him again, ruffles his hair. Wipes away his tears, ignoring her own. Looks out the window, as they make…

_ Contact _ . 

The impact reverberates like thunder inside her mind. Everything here has weight. Everything is monstrous. If this is what he’s done then she knows what it must be like to be inside his head, all the time. But she knows it’s not all he’s done here. 

The doors open, like a bus when the driver particularly wants you off so he can go home for the night. A kind of  _ thwack _ ing flounce, a “Well? Get on with it” sort of gesture. If the comforting home-fire of his little phone booth really feels that much annoyance, this must be bad. 

He must deserve it. But that means she does too. And that’s too much to bear. 

  
So she sets her shoulders, glares defiantly into the horizon, and takes the hand of the little scamp with the beanie she tried to shoot earlier this morning. “Come on, then,” she says. 

  
And they step out, together. 


End file.
